


A

by Mislav



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Male-Female Friendship, case!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mislav/pseuds/Mislav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Set in the middle of season four. Sherlock is sober once again, his relationship with his father behind him. His friendship with Joan is stronger than ever, but one case ends up affecting them more than they thought it would. Inspired by a joke from an A.V. club review. Case!fic. Title inspired by episode 1x12 "M". Please read and review, suggestions are welcome! Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't own any of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.
> 
> Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my natove language.
> 
> I know that this is really long and annoying but I would appreciate you reading this first.
> 
> In an A.V. club review of episode 3x7 "The Adventure of the Nutmeg Concoction", a reviewer, Geneiveve Valentine, wrote at the end, as a joke: "It was charming to see John Horton as The Nose! I hope we see him again. (In another season or a half, when they are on a trail of Paprika Strangler.)" And my mind likes to wander. So this story. If you haven't seen that episode, some parts of this story won't make much sense. Another irregular, Mason, who appeared in episodes 3x4 "Bella" and 3x9 "Eternity Injection", will appear in this story, and so will Ms. Hudson. Moriarty won't appear... in person.
> 
> I imagine that this story takes place somewhere in the middle of season four. Slight spoilers for season three finale but nothing major. I've decided not to address Sherlock's (possible) relapse (or a father) much, since we have still a lot to learn and I hope that will not be the season's main story arc.
> 
> It is a case!fic, mainly focusing on the characters solving the case, with character dynamic and B stories in between. No shipping, just Joanlock friendship. I know that not many people like that kind of stories but I would appreciate if you would give it a try. Any suggestions or ideas are welcome!
> 
> The secret compartment featured in this story was shown in episode 2x12 "The Diabolical Kind". He keeps Jamie's letters there. Gay (that is her name) is a geology expert, one of Sherlock and Joan's irregulars, who appeared in episode 2x14 "Dead Clade Walking".
> 
> I am not sure is Joan the kind of person to have fuzzy Garfield themed slippers ready to step into when woken up by a toortle early in the morning, but I like to think that she is.

Joan woke up early that February morning to an unusual sight in front of her. Clyde, lying on the top of her stomach, with a note attached to it. She rubber her eyes before finally being able to see the sight in front of her clearly.

Well, that was one of her less weird mornings.

She picked it up, recognizing Sherlock's handwriting even before reading it.

PLEASE COME TO THE ROOFTOP.

She smiled, thinking how cute the whole thing was, before getting up and stepping into her fuzzy Garfield themed slippers and heading for the bathroom.

Within ten minutes, she was at the rooftop, wearing her grey T-shirt, black shorts, and a small overcoat. Just as she expected, Sherlock was standing in front of one of his beehives. He smiled upon looking up at her, obviously excited over whatever he was doing.

"Watson!", he cried, a look of enjoyment on his face. "Glad to see you. Please step over."

Joan walked over to him, smiling. "What are you doing?"

"A truly fascinating experiment", Sherlock said, looking at the beehive and sounding as serious as ever. Then he turned to meet Joan's curious eyes. "Several studies have shown that bees have an extremely powerful sense of smell. Some researches show that they can even detect explosives and drugs better than specially trained police hounds. Of course, bees are small, fast, hard to control. But I think that I've come up with a solution. As to how make that ability useful."

Joan glared at him. "Really?"

"First, the bees are supposed to be fed with maple syrup mixed with a small amount of natural orange juice, which makes them well fed and less active, easier to control, but it does not affect their sense of smell. After they detect the drugs, they can easily be ruled back to the hive via a recorded bee buzzing noise."

Joan frowned. "And how they are supposed to "inform" their owners if they do detect drugs or explosives?"

Sherlocj stared at her for some time, his lips pressed together firmly. "I haven't figured that out yet", he admitted after a short silence, making Joan smirk. "Maybe a simple studying of their behavior will be enough. I am currently feeling them with generous amounts of maple syrup mixed with and orange juice. Ten groups, divided by age, species, and the amount of food. Several minutes after they finish, I will them in ten seperate new beeheves, containing ten different little packages, one of which is to be filled with small, harmless amounts of C-4 explosive that I had obtained from one of my... female acquaintance", he worded it, making Joan roll her eyes. "A chemisist."

"And, with all due respect, what would be the purpose of training bees to do such a thing?"

"Well, a better sense of smell means a higher chance of detecting a substance. Illegally imported drugs and explosives are a serious problem and every day, criminals come up with new ways to avoid detection. Smell detection is still the hardest to avoid, despite some tactics. FBI had been struggling with a lack of necessary hounds for years. And it would raise more awarness about the bees. Help to decrease their dreading extinction."

Joak chuckled. "I understand." She stepped over and observed the bees eating their threat.

"This is fascinating", Joan admitted, looking at the colonies.

"Most definitely", Sherlock agreed, nodding his head. "It will probably take ten minutes before they are ready, but the observation is still breath taking."

"I will go make myself a breakfast after I... finish something. You want me bring you a candy bar or something."

Sherlock looked at her like she had said something unreasonable. "I've eaten an egg salad for lunch yesterday. In this period of my work, that is enough for some time", he explained.

Joan went downstairs without saying another word.

Sherlock watched after Joan leaving for some time, before walking over to the bee give and opened the secret compartment on it's side. He pulled out the box, his heart swelling at the sight of an envelopes lined up. He picked out the newest letter, closed the compartment behind, and sat at the near by chair.

One of the most amazing things about reading her letters was that, most of the time, he was almost able to hear hr voice...

Dear Sherlock,

I apologize for avoiding to directly express my feelings of your... change of pace for such long time. Although there isn't much to say, I am afraid. Not that that is a bad thing, if you ask me.

I am not disappointed in you. It is hard to resist to old passions. Especially if they are not completely bad, no matter how much you keep saying to yourself that they are. I don't think that there is a need too, actually. I would gladly continue with my activities. Maybe I will someday. I know that I will. Oh, how I look forward to that. I'm sure you think-know-that I've already found a way to engage in my old passions, at least ar time. But, even in this state of mind, you must be a smart enough to already know that I won't reveal anything incriminating, not even in the most intimate of our correspondences, such is this.

Marcus Bell walked into an abandoned field, centered behind a hill, followed by several forensic techs, two of whom had thermal cameras with them. There was nothing around but the ground and rocks. Just like the forensics, Marcus had latex gloves over his hands and booties over his shoe bottoms, but they had also been wearing protective overcoats. He looked around, noticing nothing suspicious, and sighed. He hated being on the field early in the morning, especially due to an almost certainly false tip

"OK, guys. Search the area."

I'm sure that Watson will be there for you. She already is, from what you've written, isn't she? I hear thar she had recovered well after Andrew's death. You two will fall back to an old rhythm, I presume. Maybe that will be good for you. For both of you.

I'm sure that you sometimes wonder could we try the same thing. If only I was free. I have my... wishful moments too. But the life isn't perfect. Sometimes the only thing left are memories.

Joan sitting at her desk in the basement, sealed an envelope, her hand shaking slightly as she began writing Andrew's father's address on the back. The anniversary was approaching and she thought that she should pay her respects. For a moment, she looked at the flower store address written on the notepad near by and sighed.

I'm sure you'll find many more filth to amuse yourself, and your partner. Seeing the results of the worst human traits and using deduction applied to that in order to heal your detective urges. After all, one smart person once said: "Without a darkness there could be no light".

As you've often said, a facility for quation covers an absence of original thought. But one can't deny that even the lesser minds can, in the rare moments of full clarity, see into the rawest, darkest corners of this cosmos. Only they lack the courage-skills-to embrace it.

The only question is: who is the darkness, and who is the light?

Marcus sighed, looking down at the thermal image of human body under the ground.

"Call some more guys", he said. "And tell them to bring some shovels."

I dear hope you'll write soon!

Ever yours,

Jamie Moriarty.

Sherlock lowered the letter, looking up. He just stared in front of himself, without making a sound. He remained in that position for some time before his ringtone went off.

He pulled out his phone and, upon seeing "Bell" written on the screen, answered.

"Hallo?"

#

Within an hour, Sherlock and Joan had been approaching that same field, followed by Marcus. The burial sight had been uncovered, partially decomposed male body lying on the piece of plastic on the ground near by. Sherlock just finished with pulling the gloves over his hands as Marcus started his explanation. "Male's body, buried about five feet deep", he said. "Unfortunately, there don't appear to be any usable shoe prints or tyre tracks around."

"You seem to have some witnesses", Sherlock commented, glaring at the several people from behind the police tape a few feet away; several middle aged men, a young black haired women with shoulder length hair, and a red haired teenage boy.

Marcus sighed. "Just some people who happened to be on a site seeing few miles away, or joggers. We will interrogate them and take the info, but I doubt that we will find much. It doesn't look too difficult at first, but murders with bodies found on an isolated locations are often very hard to solve and a former police chief has a summer house few miles away so..."

"Well, obviously, the victim is a Caucasian man", Joan deduced, looking at the corpse, as Sherlock walked over and began examining it closely. "In early to mid twenties, I think. Medium length blonde hair. About 5'10, average weight. And naked. Probably a forensic countermeasure. Strangled to death. From the front, judging by the position of the knot."

"ME thinks that he had been buried here for about two weeks, give or take a few days", Marcus explained."It looks like he had been beaten up prior to the death too. Many bruises, several cracked ribs, broken nose. An autopsy will probably reveal more of it. There are also some... laserations on his... private area", he said, avoiding to look at the body, unease in his voice. "The autopsy will show did that happen before or after his death and had the killer done that or..."

"The killer did that", Sherlock said, matter of factly, making Marcus shiver, while Joan walked closer, joining the examination. "The laserations are all of the same look, almost forming a pattern. Prior to the victim's death too, judging by the amount of dried blood." His eyes then trailed up the victim's body. "There is also a cut on the victim's neck, just above the spot where the rope tied. Made prior to the death, but I'd say non fatal."

"It looks quite precise", Joan noticed, while Sherlock was already busy studying the rope and the knot. "Maybe the killer has a medical knowledge. By the look of the cuts, I'd say... a common switchblade." Joan sighed. "That doesn't help much."

Sherlock turned facing Marcus, holding at the knot with one hand. "The rope is long and thick, barely at all degrated", he exclaimed. "No thread marks on the surface at all. This is a rock climbing rope. Tied so tightly around his neck that it broke the skin. The knot used is one of the common hiking knots. Our killer is likely a hiker, quite strong."

As Marcus wrote that down, Sherlock continued examining the corpse. He carefully studied every bruise. "The bruises at the right side of the body are of a different angle than the one on the left", he deduced, breathing heavily, his eyes trying to capture every detail. "Leaning to the side, slightly less severe", he explained. "Our killer is left handed. Judging by the look of them, he probably used his own fist to beat up the victim."

"Some guy", Marcus mumbled.

Sherlock then went on to studying victim's hands, while Marcus turned facing Joan, who had since walked over to him.

"Forensics and canine unit are searching the area, looking for evidence or possibly another body", he said. "They haven't finished yet, but it doesn't look like they will find much."

Sherlock studied the victim's right hand closely, even smelling it. There was something ... different about it.

"Who found the body?", Joan asked, looking around. "I've noticed some evidence bags on the desk near by, filled with dirt and rocks. That is usually how forensics preserve the evidence while uncovering the body."

Marcus nodded his head. "Yes, they carefully dig up the body and store the dirt samples in an evidence bags, then they examime it closely at the lab. They will take all these samples with them soon. It was an anonymous tip. Somebody reported "seeing someone bury something" here, possibly a body. I went over there with several techs, they had thermal camera, they searched the area and they found the body. The caller didn't identify himself. We are working on tracing the call."

Sherlock used his tweezer to take swabs from under the fingernails of the victim's right hand. He carefully studied the content, then stored it into one of the evidence bags he had been carrying with him. He did so several times, before finally forming a conclusion and deciding to share it.

"Luckily, not the whole body had decomposed equally, so to say. The victim's right fist remained reatively well preserved, probably because it ended up being positioned just under a big rock sticking up from the ground inside. Judging by the look of the substance on his right fist and a forearm and the fading but still present smell of it, that area is covered with a red pepper. He also has two different oil burns on his right forearm, of different age." He stood up with a groan, then walked over to Marcus and Joan, showing them the content of the evidence bags. "On the first look, under his fingernails is nothing but dirt. But on a closer look, you will also see traces of salt, pepper and origamo. Our victim worked as a cook and was probably right handed. There is also something like a plastic, but unfortunately, no skin or blood."

Joan said before taking another look at the body. She suddenly frowned, having noticed something on the victim's right shoulder. Marcus and Sherlock exchanged a glance before approaching her. "It is hard to see on a first look, due to a size of it and decomposition, but if you observe closely you will see a scar on the left shoulder. Looks like a medical one too."

"I've seen it a few times", Joan remembered, her face lightening up. "During surgeries as well as on recovering addicts. He had a tattoo removed. I would say about a week before his death. That could help you identify him or maybe even uncover the motive."

"We'll check", Marcus promised, just at the moment when Joan pulled out a small scalpel from her pocket and used it to move some of the torn flesh on the cut on the victim's chest to the side, allowing her to look inside.

"OK", Marcus exclaimed. Sherlock just stood near by, watching the procedure with a mixture of curiosity and pride. Joan repeated the procedure several times, eventually frowning and standing up straight, while Sherlock moved to examine the dirt and rocks stored in an evidence bags, that laid on a near by stool.

"This is weird", Joan noted. "The brutal was beating, but there are no fibers in any of the open wounds."

"Well, the body had started decomposing some time ago", Marcus pointed out.

Joan took a step back, still looking down at the body. Sherlock went on to studying the tools used by the forensic techs, left near by. "Yes, but the internal tissue looks pretty well preserved. There is barely any dirt in the wounds. Most of them." She frowned, remaining silent for some time, having noticed something. "He was already naked when he got beaten up. Also, minor, random cuts on the body, that also look like they had been made with a switchblade, suggest that the killer cut his clothes off-but there are none from below his waist, except for laserations on the genitals."

The silence that followed was soon interrupted by Sherlock. "Detective, how wide is this search?"

"Half a mile radius", Marcus answered. "They are about to finish."

"We will have to go further than that", Sherlock announced.

Within twenty minutes, they walked out of Marcus's vehicle, followed by two forensic techs carrying thermal cameras, and heading towards an abandoned area surrounde with a wire fence. The terrane was pretty much the same, except there was more rocks and there were a lot of trees around. "I am not a geology expert, but I did learn a few things from Gay. Especially about the rocks New York vise", Sherlock said.

"Gay?", Marcus asked. Both Sherlock and Joan ignored that.

"One type of the rocks that had been recovered in the grave are commonly found on this location, not where the body was found. Although this area is just a mile away from a burial sight, you don't find many of such rocks in that field. Especially not in that amount and so deep in the ground, according to the data on the bags. Those rocks also have an unusual cuts on them, that look like shovel marks. I've noticed the same marks on the other rocks recovered from the grave, the one that, geologically, match to the area where the body was found. By all accounts, the uncovering of the grave really was taken care of carefully, and the tools used by forensics don't match those cuts."

"So, whoever buried our victim in that field had been digging, with the same shovel, in this some time prior to that", Marcus concluded.

"It is not necessarily an evidence of an additional foul play or even a much of a lead, but it is worth checking out", Joan added.

"And we think that we should start here", Sherlock said, pointing at the fence. "An abbandoned spice and flavor farm, surrounded with a fence, hidden from the view."

They easily walked inside the area, since the door was unlocked. After making a few steps forward, they stopped, observing the area, the location giving them a good view. There was not much to be seen: bunch of dirt and rocks, some branches, a shed at the very end, and some old soda cans and grocery bags. The place smelled of grass and fertilizer. A part of the fence far to the left was broken a little.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, it seems", Sherlock concluded, then turned towards the forensic tech. "But there is only one way to know for sure."

"I may save you some effort", Joan exclaimed, attracting attention of all the four men as she pointed to the ground in front of them. "At first sight, the ground looks undisturbed. No signs of digging. The killer did a good job. But there are more rocks and branches on this location than on the rest of the area. Somebody wanted to conceal this area, making it harder to access to."

"That was the same way the grave over there had been concealed", Marcus remembered, mentally face palming himself.

"The size looks also about the same like the one of the grave that you had uncovered there", Sherlock concluded. It wasn't long before Joan started walking forward, from one end to another, observing the ground carefully, followed by her colleagues-and a partner.

"It's the same here", she addressed, feeling herself chill. But then she continued.

Almost half a mile away, the same. "And here."

And, at the very end of the area, near an abandoned shed, the same. "And here", she concluded with a sigh.

All five people kept staring down at the ground in silence for some time, breathing heavily, almost in some sort of an irrational fear of speaking than not knowing what to say.

Until Sherlock finally expressed the only logical conclusion out loud.

"It looks like we have uncovered a mas grave."

~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't own any of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.
> 
> Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.

That afternoon, the conference room in the precinct was filled with police officers, patrole officers, and some forensics. Sherlock and Joan stood at the side, completely focused to the case. There were crime scene photographs and preliminary forensic reports plastered on the large board behind the work desks. The room was filled with whispers and sounds of pens tapping against the desk. Thomas and Marcus had been standing next to the board.

"It looks like we are dealing with a serial killer", captain Gregson explained, his voice serious and firm. "All five victims are Caucasian men in mid to late twenties, about 5'10 tall, average weight", he said, pointing at the photpgraphs of the bodies. "It looks like they had all been forcibly undressed, beaten and strangled to death, which was followed by a genital mutilation. The latest victim had been buried there for about two weeks, the "oldest" one for two years", he said, tracing his hand underneath an improvised timeline drawn on the plastic surface. "They had all been buried five feet deep."

"Obviously, we are dealing with a dangerous man", Marcus concluded. "Very careful one and very brutal one, with a very specific victim type and M.O. All we know is that "he" is likely a man, strong, left handed, and a hiker", he stated, glaring at Sherlock for a moment, who smirked. "He likely has a prior criminal history, possibly involving young men. We also have reasons to believe that the latest victim was a cook, right handed, and recently had a tattoo removed from his right shoulder."

Joan chimmed in. "Also, the killer probably owns or has an access to an additional space where he tortures and murders his victims, other than his or her home. Those fields are secondary crime scenes."

All the faces in the room instantly turned towards her. Some showed signs of annoyance, some of envy, and some were genuinely curios. She just ignored them and turned facing the board.

"Preliminary forensic results revealed no signs of a struggle or blood on any of the fields or inside an abandoned shed. Also, the third victim had all the fingers on his right hand broken, all in the middle phalanx bone, as well as his palm bone dislocated", she said, pointing at the photograph in the upper right corner. "An autopsy has yet to be performed, but it is visible, clearly. Those injuries are consistent with a very heavy, likely metal surface, being pressed against one's hand. Such as a big metal door. The door to the fence and the shed don't match that, and neither are most of the doors you would expect to find on typical New York apartments and houses. Also, it is unlikely that such incident would remain unreported, even if it were to happen in one of the more isolated neighborhood areas New York vise. It happened during the day after all."

"How do you know that it happened during the day?"

Joan walked over to the board, withholding a sigh.

"It was unusually warm and sunny two weeks ago, in the morning, remember? Our latest victim has slight sun burns on his face", she said, pointing at the photograph on the middle of the board. "Just started developing. It isn't clearly visine at first, I haven't noticed them at first either, but they are there. He got killed few hours tops after being exposed to such a bright sun for at least an hour, I'd say. Our killer relies a lot on every aspect of torture, murder and body disposal. And is organized. He probably tortured and murdered his other victims during the day time as well. Evidence suggest that they were murdered soon after or even during the torture."

"Then why switch?", one of the rookie police officers asked. "From an abandoned factory to an abandoned field a mile away. There was still plenty of space left on the first location."

"I did some research", Sherlock explained. "There was another bike track opened two months ago, near the original burial sight. Maybe that felt as too much of a risk to him. Just in case, I am composing a grave chart to see are the some kind of a pattern. Obviously, this killer is all about details." Some officers scoffed, but he ignored them.

"A good thing: there is a possible witness", Thomas said before pressing "play" on a CD player on one of the work desks near by. Almost immediately, the recorded voices started emerging from the device.

Thomas calmly turned the CD player off, looking up at the people in the room.

Dispatcher: 911 call. What is your emergency?"

The Caller: Somebody is buried there.

Dispatcher: Calm down, sir. Who is buried where?

The Caller: I saw somebody burry something in that field. You know, outside the Brooklyn, behind the kill. I think that that may have been the body.

Dispatcher: How sure are you?

The Caller: Pretty sure.

Dispatcher: Can you identify yourself, sir?

That is when the call ended. Thomas turned the CD player off.

"Forensics traced a call to a phone booth in Brooklyn. Voice analysts say that the Caller is a Caucasian man in early thirties, American, local", Bell informed them.

"Split in groups. Investigate everyone with a criminal record, especially involving young men, who used to work there or was arrested there. Contact the missing persons unit, try comparing dental records. We don't have much time before the media will have a field day with this."

Most of the staff then disappeared into the hallways and other rooms as some remained behind to study some files. Sherlock turned facing Joan, ready to tell her what he had been planning to tell before hearing about the conference.

"The first kill is usually more sloppy than the others. Our killer did his best not to leave behind any evidence and to get rid of the killers clothing and personal belongings, but he missed something while burying the first victim. Forensics found several coins underneath the body", he said, pulling out a crime scene photograph in front of Watson: it showed several rusty coin shaped pieces of metal with dirt on them. "Too rusty and degrated for the currently to be conclusively determined. No forensic evidence remained either. But judging by the weight, size and shape, I've managed to identify them as Chinese yuans. Common ones, not a collectible kind. I was also able to conclud that they had been buried there about as long as the body. It is likely that our victim, or a killer, got them for a change or as souvenirs, likely in Chinatown. Keeping in mind the location where the bodies were found, probably in the closest one to that location, in Manhattan. While others are working with missing person's department in order to identify the latest victim, me and Marcus are going to Chinatown to ask some questions. Maybe you would want to join us?"

Joan shifted, slightly uncomfortably. "I can't... I am having an early lunch with someone."

Sherlock glared at her. "With somebody, I suppose."

"Ms. Hudson", Joan admitted, making Sherlock raise eyebrows at her. "She invited me yesterday. And I have some books to return to the library later. I guess the reason is something... private, maybe a case of some sort,lso don't push it."

"It shall not even cross my mind", Sherlock assured her. Joan smiled at him before heading towards the door.

#

They met in a nice restaurant near a local theatre, big enough not to feel crowded but small enough for a feeling of modesty and relaxation to be established. They were sitting in a corner near a big window, waiting for their orders while staring outside, observing passer by. Joan had ordered a tuna salad while Ms. Hudson had ordered french fries with cheese.

"I've recently published a study", she explained, pulling a file out of her purse and putting it on the table in front of Joan. "Then that guy comes along. Howard Johnson. A History professor on a local college, a self proclaimed expert in an Ancient Greek. He keeps a low key, but is quite good." She leaned over, lowering her voice. "He accused me of plagiarising it, claiming that it was originally his work. He is threatening to file a private lawsuit. Do you know what that can do to me? To my career, reputation?"

"That is terrible!", Joan cried.

"I didn't do that, Joan! I could never..."

"I know", Joan assured her. Ms. Hudson leaned back in her chair. "But why is he accusing you?"

Ms. Hudson rolled her eyes, her cheeks blushing. "We two had... a thing a few years back. Not my usual type of relationship. It didn't end well. He wanted to... "commit", but I simply... didn't. It was that simple. But he didn't take it well. I had to issue a restraining order."

"That gives him the motive", Joan concluded. But something was really bothering her. "But why now, after all these years. You had been publishing papers before, right?"

"Five since our break up. I don't understand it. It isn't a high profile thing either. It wouldn't get him much reputation or money. And as far as I've heard, he's doing quite well. No finantial problems. He wouldn't benefit from a private lawsuit. And he probably knows that I don't have much money. I would usually ask Sherlock, but he already knows too much about my love life, and he seems to be in the middle of some bee experiment..."

Joan frowned. "You know about that?"

Ms. Hudson shrugged. "I've stumbled upon some notes while cleaning up." Two women shared a brief chuckle, but Ms. Hudson soon turned serious.

"I've noticed a few discrepancies myself. For example, at one point he mentioned Onomata Kexiasmena, a magazine of crosswords and puzzles in Ancient Greek, He claims that he had written that paper in 2011 while we were dating. The first issue of that magazine came out in April 2015. But that would only prove that I hadn't plagiarised it letter by letter."

"Is there any evidence other than his accusations?"

"Apparently there is a witness ready to testify that he started writing that paper in 2011. And some computer evidence as well. These are all informations that I've managed to obtain."

Joan sighed, putting her hand on the file. "I will look into this. You don't have to pay me." Ms. Hudson was about to protest when Joan stopped her. "I insist."

Ms. Hudson gave her a greateful look. "Thank you."

Joan offered a warm smile in return, as Ms. Hudson was just finishing her meal. "I have to go now. I will hear from you later this evening."

"That's OK", Joan said, taking a sip of Cola. "I better go too. Merely observing the customers in here makes me uncomfortable. Who would have known that so many women enjoys..." She bit her lip. "Never mind."

#

Joan felt a breath of discomfort as she found herself in front of Howard Johnson, in the city college classroom, talking to him. Nobody else was there and he had just finished one of his classes. Howard was a Caucasian man of average height and weight, in mid fifties, with short black hair and black eyes, with eyeglasses.

"You are... a police consultant?", he repeated, like he wasn't entirely convinced.

"Yes. More of a private detective, in this case. We have to investigate her side of the story too."

Howard scoffed. "We've talked about it a few times. I kept my notes around my apartment. I didn't think that she would actually try to pull out such a thing though." Something about his behavior struck Joan as... too much. An act.

"Why do you think she would wait for three years to plagiarise you?", she asked.

Howard looked up at her. His jaw was clenched, but he managed to remain calm. "Maybe you should ask her that." Still, she couldn't help but notice that he had glances at something at the front of his desk.

"Can you think of anyone else who would have access to your work?"

"Not really. I haven't talked to anyone else about it. She was the only one dropping at my home regularly at the time. Soon after we broke up, I stored those files in the basement and haven't revisited the idea until learning about her work and noticing the similarities."

"Can I... talk to your witness, please?"

Howard smiled. "I'm sorry, but my lawyer had advised me to be... careful with those informations until the process begins. It is a civil lawsuit after all." Once again, he glances to the front of his desk. There was nothing there but a cup full of pen's, computer, and a notepad.

Howard turned to wipe some notes off the board. Joan examined the notepad and noticed some impression on the first page. She curiously traced her finger over the surface, confirming her suspicion. She quickly ripped that piece of paper and stiffed it down her pocket. Howard then turned facing her. "I would like you to leave now. I have to get ready for the next lecture."

Joan forced a polite smile. "OK. I've found out everything I need", she couldn't help but say smugly. "See you later."

#

Upon walking into the brownstone later that afternoon and heading into the living room, where she deduced Sherlock would be, Joan stumbled upon Mason, dressed in his usual sweatpants and oversized T-shirt, sitting at the desk and typing something on several computers every now and then in an incredible speed, the words had been flashing in front of the screen faster than she could make them out. He didn't even notice her at first and simply said: "Hi" once he did. Sherlock's response was pretty much the same. He was sitting in an armchair, reading a case file.

Mason started explaining the situation instead of Sherlock. "I've devised a voice recognition software that I had easily wrote into a computer file containing 911 recordings as well as in the one containing a 911 recording that led to the discovery of the body. I am just about finished."

"Maybe the caller had reported another crime before or after and that case can provide us more information about his identity", Sherlock suggested, still reading. "It is a stretch, but worth a try. We are going to start with the recordings dating back two months from two weeks ago and the ones from the last two weeks and continue until we identify the caller or a better solution presents itself. That is the best current idea. Me and Marcus had spent a long tedious time in Chinatown, but found no new leads."

"I will also see can one of my programmes help you make facial reconstructions", Mason said.

"What happened to your shirt?", she asked, noticing his drained shirt laying in the corner behind.

"Pepper spray. Don't ask."

She looked around. "And how does Clyde fit in this?" Their toortle had been lying in a terrarium near by, a small mirror in front of him. There was even a camera running near by, pointed to him.

"An unrelated experiment", Sherlock said, matter of factly. "I am trying to find out does he have a sufficent mental capacity to recognize his reflection in a mirror. Fascinating. I can't be entirely focused on that though. Hence the camera."

Joan glared at him. "So, your bee research is on a hold?"

Sherlock looked up, frowning slightly. "I've stumbled upon an obstacle. There's still hope."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I don't own any of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.

Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.

The book and the writer mentioned in this chapter are fictional.

Joan had fallen asleep at about one am that day, at the living room desk covered with papers, mostly the copies of Ms. Hudson's study and printed articles about Howard Johnson. She had planned to research in the basement but she had been waiting upstairs for Sherlock and Mason to come up with the results and got carried away. The lamp remained turned off, but she was able to take the eyeglassess off before dozing off. Her peaceful activity only lasted till seven am, when she was woken up with a loud music playing right next to her ear.

Bad boys, bad boys, watcha gonna do...

She rubbed her eyes a few times and groaned due to a noise. She eventually saw Sherlock standing in front of the desk, with a cold blooded expression on his face, holding his phone in his hand. She looked around, and saw that her phone screen had been lightened up, name "Sherlock" written as a caller ID. That phone had been, she soon realized, the source of the music. She quickly pressed the End icon.

"Have you changed my ringtone again?", she asked, frustrated.

Sherlock didn't reply: instead, he just put his own laptop, the one he had been holding under his other hand the whole time, in front of Joan, lifted the lid and, with several clicks, opened an audio file, with a voice recognition software attached to it. "Listen to this", he said before starting the first recording.

Joan was staring blankly at the screen, still sleepy, while the recording started playing. It was the recording of the call that had led to the discovery of the bodies, the one that they had already heard at the precinct.

"That is the recording of 911 call that led to the discovery of the bodies. So what?", she asked before yawning.

"Now listen to this", he advised then got the second recording playing. Joan widened her eyes upon spotting swollen red dots on his hand.

"Are these bee marks..."

"Just listen!"

Joan shifted in her chair. The second recording started out as mutterring.

"911 call, what is your emergency?"

"Please help me", a female voice whispered on the other end of the line.

"Give me all the money!", a male voice in the background said. Joan shivered.

"What is going on, ms?", the dispatcher asked.

"Come over...", the woman pleaded.

The male voice was heard again. "Hey, what are you..."

The tipster let out a gasp. The call the ended.

"An armed robbery", Sherlock explained calmly. "No fatalities. The robber had fled with ten thousand dollars in cash. One of the people who had been in the store at the time managed to call 911 while the robbery was taking place." He then made a few more clicks, setting the software to compare the two recordings. Joan put on her eyeglasses, observing the results carefully. She was not a big expert in technology, but she had a pretty good idea of what the results written on the screen meant.

"The voice in the background-the robber's voice-matches to the caller's voice." She looked up at Sherlock. "Did they ever identify the robber?"

"Yes. Thirty two years old Jake Gubler, who has a previous assault conviction. A traffic camera had taped his car fleeing the scene and police found the gun used in the robbery in his possession. And yes, the voice analysist linked his voice sample to the one recorded during the call. They never found the stolen money. A week after, he made bail and then fell off the radar. Nobody had seen him since. If we find Jake, maybe we will learn more about the killer. Maybe he is the killer."

At that point, Sherlock's ringtone went off. He answered, seeing "detective Bell" written on the screen. "Hallo?" The conversation started out as brief. "Wait, I'll put you on speaker." He did so before putting the phone down on the desk.

"Your advices paid off", Marcus commended them. "Luckily, every surgeon in the city that had been using such tattoo removal technique had kept a detailed info on the patients and their medical records. Fifteen men in the city match the profile. Once we had compared those names with the men reported missing and the ones employed as cooks, we found a single match. Brock Stinson, twenty four. He lived with his boyfriend, twenty five year old Jacob Bingham, who reported him missing two weeks ago. Brock hadn't returned from work that afternoon and wasn't answering the calls. Jacob did wait until the next day to report the disappearance though. Neighbors confirmed that the two had been arguing a lot, but they also confirmed that Brock had a habit of disappearing for a couple of days somewhere and then returning. Police didn't look much into it. They didn't even bother to provide his fingerprints and DNA samples for missing person's database, and interestingly Jacob didn't push it. We had his dentist provide us with a dental record. It matches."

"I think that it is pretty obvious that Jacob should be considered a prime suspect", Sherlock exclaimed.

"They are bringing him down to the precinct now. I've thought you may want to join us."

Sherlock and Joan simply exchanged a glance.

#

Jacob Bignham, a Caucasian man with a little long brown hair and brown eyes, was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to Marcus Bell. He kept clasping his hands together, looking around nervously. His eyes were watery. Joan, Sherlock and Thomas has been standing outside, looking at them through a one was mirror and listening to the conversation through the microphone.

"You never bothered to supply the missing person's with his fingerprint or DNA samples", Marcus pointed out. "There was still his toothbrush left. His comb..."

"They didn't ask!", Jacob cried. He shuddered. "And I was hoping that he would turn up. Alive and well." He looked away. "I know that the things hadn't been always great between the two of us, but I loved him."

Sherlock's frown kept increasing with every second of the interview. "I don't understand why would he kill all those men first, and then his boyfriend", he eventually exclaimed.

"Maybe his boyfriend found out about the murders and had to be silenced?", Thomas suggested.

Sherlock shook his head. "Then why bother following through with the ritual? And why was his boyfriend the type of men that he would kill?"

"If it turns out that other four victims had been homosexual as well, we may be looking into a series of hate crimes", Thomas suggested.

Joan wasn't convinced. "I doubt it. People driven by such motives rarely chose such a specific victim type and follow with the same M.O."

"Also, they aren't prone hiding the bodies", Sherlock pointed out. "They want people to fear, to witness the results of their sick ideology." He frowned, looking away. "So far, the best way to find the killer seems to be by finding out where Jake Gubler is."

Thomas sighed. "I've looked into it. They checked with his relatives, even set up patroles for some time, nothing. So far, no hits at any of the motels. They tried to pin point his cellphone signal, nothing. He must have broken it or turned it off then threw it away. Tracking him down will be hard."

"But not impossible", Sherlock mused. Joan went on to studying the case file in her hand. "The original police work on examining Brock's computer seems thin. Maybe I can look more into that."

"There is a pretty isolated alleyway near Brock Stinson's workplace, even during the daytime", Sherlock mentioned, sighing. "It could be worth giving another look."

#

That time they met in a cafe. Joan still felt uncomfortable being in the cafes, but it was bearable. Nobody knew that they had another meeting. She showed the paper that she had stolen to Ms. Hudson. It had pen marks on it, revealing the impressions that read out a cellphone number. "I've noticed some impressions on the notepad on his desk in one of the classrooms", she explained. "I thought that it was odd thar he kept looking at his desk so I paid a little more attention and... I managed to take the paper with me and later managed to recover a phone number. It had been written on the paper above, the one that is now gone. The number belongs to George Heffernan, a retired Harvard professor and a famous expert in Greece literature. He could have been the witness against you in that case. However, it looks like Howard had just obtained his cellphone number as of recently."

"Unless he had recently bought a new phone", Ms. Hudson suggested.

"What I can't understand is this: why would he lie for Howard? He is rich, famous, succesfull. How would they even cross paths? I spent the whole night going through Howard's articles, articles about him, his Facebook page, and I've found no connection, except that Howard had attended several of his lectures."

Ms. Hudson sighed. "I don't know. This whole thing is a mess." She ran her hands down her face. Joan didn't like seeing her in such a condition.

Suddenly, Joan's face lit up. She remembered something. "I do know a certain people who could help me obtain... more information. I'll see what I can do."

Ms. Hudson was about to say something when Bad Boys melody started playing again. Joan mentally face palmed herself, remembering that she hadn't changed the ringtone back to the original. She pulled out her phone, quickly turning the ringtone off, and read the text.

It was from Sherlock.

CTB135APA.

As always, she understood it right away. And she knew that she had to go.

#

Joan found Sherlock sitting on a bench under a small elm tree at the very end of a near by park. He seemed to have been observing the motel located just five feet away. It's name was CITY, and it looked pretty low profile: cheap facade, dirty glass door and some potted palma trees at the sides of the outside entrance. She sat next to him, and it was only then that he noticed her.

"Hello, Watson!", he exclaimed cheerfully, then checked his watch before looking back at the hotel. "Just in time."

"Just in time for what?", Joan asked, only the noticing a file in his lap.

Sherlock leaned back, his eyes still mostly focused on the motel. "I've examined the photographs of Jake Gubler's apartment taken after the escape", he explained, them opened the file, took one of the photographs out of it and showed it to Joan. That photographed showed the interior of Jacob's bedroom closet. It was almost completely empty. He then handled her the second photograph, the one showing the whole room. "He took all of the clothing, money, documents and suitcases with him, but no blankets, sheets, no hygiene supplies except for a toothbrush. He was planning to stay in a motel. Since he is obviously very careful and not willing to just spend away the money that he had stolen during a robbery, he was probably planning on staying in a cheap motel outside of New York."

"But the police checked many of them and found no match", Joan pointed out.

"They didn't find anyone signed up under his real name or one of his known aliases, and nobody reported seeing him." He pulled out another photograph, showing his writing desk, and handed it to Joan. "But look at the book on the writing desk."

Joan studied the dark cover with interest.

"Dark Nights by Alen Hotch", she read the title and the author's name.

"I've googled it. It is a collection of short mystery stories. Now look at the book shelf above the writing desk."

"Judging by the titles, most of the other books that he owns seem to be of a mystery genre as well. So what?" She handed the photograph back to Sherlock.

"In his apartment, they also found a pizza receipt. He had ordered a pizza that day at two pm. Look at the trash can in the kitchen", he said, handling her one more photograph.

"A pizza box", she noted. "Relatively clean. It couldn't have been there for long."

"Now take another look at the writing table. At the book", he said, giving her back the previous photograph.

Joan frowned. "There is something under it."

"A receipt." He turned to face Joan. "What are you able to deduce from the given evidence?"

"That had been reading that book shortly before fleeing", she concluded. "And that helps us how?"

"The books had since been given to charity, his apartment being up for a rent shortly after the revelation and none of his relatives caring much for them. Maybe he left them to make for a lightes luggage. The book, luckily, remained in the fundation till this day, having still not found a good home. And their records are quite good. I examined the book and recovered pizza stains on the pages of one story in the collection. That was the last story that he had read before going on the run. Pretty compelling plot-for a mystery story, that is. And an interesting story formatting. It is told almost completely in a dialogue form. A police detective is interrogating a serial killer. A police detective is referred to as mr. Lewis. The serial killer is simply being referred to as Brian. The only two actual characters in the story, only two names. And have you noticed the enigmatic magazines in a carboard box on the floor near writing desk?"

Joan stared at the photograph in awe. Everything fell into place. The whole thing made sense.

"I've advised the troopers to go to the low profile motels outside New York and check guest logs for somebody signed in as Inbar Weils, which is an anagram from Brian Lewis, dating back three weeks or less. Within two hours, they found the match. The owner and the receptionist were reluctant to co operate at first, but once police officers made it pretty clear that that man may be wanted for five murders they changed their minds. Apparently that man is still staring there and is usually out between one and five pm. Probably due to being involved in some other shady business. Now we are waiting for him."

They remained sitting in silence for a few moments, then Sherlock pulled out his phone. "By the way, I've searched the alley near Brock's workplace. Look at what I had found."

He handed the smartphone to Joan: there was a photograph on the screen. On the photograph there was a capital letter A, cut into a brick wall. "By the look of the cuts, an angle of the letter and force applied, I was able to conclude that the killer is left handed, strong and that he had used a common switchblade. The exposed material had started rotting slightly only as of recently, meaning that the letter had been cut in there for about two weeks. It is highly unlikely that is a coincidence. I think that the killer is leaving us a message. Or a taunt."

"But what kind? Neither Jake's first not second name starts with an A. The same with Brock. And he went missing in March."

"Maybe we are about to find out", Sherlock said, turning his attention back to the motel. A suspicious looking man with short black hair and black eyes, of average height and slightly overweight, had just walked in. "Minus the long hair, this looks like Jake Gubler. There are two undercover police officers inside and two outside. As soon as the recepcionist gives the sign meaning that man is Inbar Wellis, he is ours."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N: I don't own aby of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.
> 
> Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.
> 
> SuckingChestWound, a member of the group Everyone, appeared in the episose 3x19 "One Watson, One Holmes".
> 
> This story takes place in second half of season four, in 2016.

As expected, Sherlock's advice had paid off. Within an hour, Jake was at the precinct, sitting at the table in the interrogation room, facing Marcus and Joan, who had been sitting at that table too, opposite to him. Sherlock was standing near by, quietly observing the scene in front of him.

"I didn't kill those people!", Jake cried, his voice echoing in a pale looking room. "I swear! Why would I inform the police if I did?"

"And how did you know where the body was buried?", Marcus asked, making Jack groan.

"We are waiting for the answer, mr. Gubler."

Jake eyed them all carefully before leaning back in his chair as in a sign of defeat. "I... I hid the stolen money there", he admitted, bitterness evident in his voice. "I got tired of keeping it in the motel room, I felt that it was that risky. I hid it in that field, in that hollow tree." His eyes watered a little. "I was some distance away and I've seen that... person... finishing with burrying something there."

A short silence ensued, with a detective and two consultants glancing at each other, as to silently debating is that story true or not. Jake was breathing heavily, his face covered in sweat.

"Can you describe that person?", Marcus eventually asked.

Jake sighed, rubbing his face. "Average height and weight... smaller build... I can't even tell was that person a man or a woman." He stopped for a moment. He seemed to have a trouble coming up with the words. "But, he or she was wearing, like, that white, plastic, protective overcoat, over the whole body. There was a bright moonlight on that area, so I was able to catch some details... luckily, that weirdo didn't spot me."

He looked away for a moment, his hands shaking. "But, in the end, I just couldn't live with the knowledge that somebody may be buried there, without anyone knowing, their families still hoping... I've done some bad things, but I am not a monster." He gulped. "So I took a bus back to New York, found one of the few phone boots left and called it in. It turns out that I was right."

"We didn't find any money in the area", Joan pointed out. "Where is it now?"

"You know that we will find it eventually", Marcus assured him.

Jake remained silent for some time, sustaining somehow rigid demeanor, before answering. "Buried in that small park a block away. Under a maple tree near the fountain", he whispered.

"Do you remember any other details?", Sherlock asked. "Maybe about the car the killer was driving?"

took a deep breath, frowning. "There was something in the trunk... some red cans... and something like... some red dust on the overcoat", he remembered, confused. He shook his head. "I am not sure, it was night and that guy was some distance away... the wind was blowing, I felt some, although faint, smell in the air... pretty strong, spicy. The car was dark colored, maybe European." He leaned over, a look on his face almost pleading. ""I wanted to mention this while calling 911, but there was a patrole car driving by and I panicked." He blushed. "I figured that you would end up finding the guy eventually."

It was then that Marcus ringtone went off. He pulled out his phone and, after reading an email. He gestured to Sherlock and Joan to walk outside, which they did, followed by him.

"Mr. Gubler does appear honest", Sherlock said as soon as Marcus closed the door.

"I agree", Joan chimmed in.

Marcus wasn't paying much attention to that though. "Big break through in the case. The remaining four victims had been identified. The first one is Cindy Q, twenty, a match in CODIS, he had a record for theft. There had been hits in missing persons database with the third, the fourth and the fifth one."

He handed his phone to Sherlock, who quickly skimmed through the content, as Joan watched.

"The first victim, Cindy Q, had gone missing on March 4th 2014", Sherock exclaimed. The second victim on January 12th 2015. The third on March 4th 2015, the fourth on January 12th 2016, Brock Stinson on March 4th 2016."

"Why are those dates so important to this guy?", Joan wondered.

"At least we have an actual clue now", Sherlock said, giving the phone back to Marcus. A mischievous smile appeared on his face. "And one more. Red boxes. Red powder. Spicy smell. That all matches to the traces of pepper found on the victim."

"But you've said that those traces were left on him during the work in the restaurant", Joan pointed out.

Sherlock nodded his head. "Most of them, probably. But it turns out that he was working in macrobiotic rastaurant. They are not prone to using such spices." "I think that the killer is putting on the bodies on purpose. That is a part of his ritual. The rest of Brock's body had been too badly decomposed for to be detector there, let alone the other victims."

Joan smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at him. "And I'm sure that you already know the right person to extract something more from that clue."

#

The Nose was well dressed and looked professional as always, and didn't speak much. Just as always, he carefully studied Brock Stinson's body, that had been laying on the autopsy table, maybe as a way of a mental preparation. After smelling the stack of coffee drops that he had kept in his pocket. He breathed in the air in the room, before bending over and sniffing the body from the head down to the feet. He took the moment to think over the smells, before carefully smelling every hand and foot. Sherlock and Joan were watching him in a mixture of fascination and slight disgust, patiently waiting for the results. Marcus just looked as confused as ever.

"Well, I am saddened to admit that this is my least uncomfortable examination of the decomposing body so far", The Nose exclaimed before turning towards Sherlock and Joan. "Anyway, other than the smell of fitting flesh and dirt, there is also a very present smell of the Cayene pepper. That's a very common kind, I am afraid." He ran his hand through his hair. "But there is also a smell of dishwashing liquid. And cement. Judging by the intensity, are probably a result of a secondary transfer. From a killer."

Marcus was confused. "That helps us how?"

Sherlock looked at him as if he had already known the answer. And he had. "Keeping in mind cement and dishwashing liquid, which is often used to polish rocks, our killer may be a sculpturist."

#

When Joan walked into the kitchen soon after waking up at about eight am the next morning, she found Sherlock making scrambled eggs shirtless, bunch of papers and files and two laptops lying on her table (still shaky due to the Sherlock's experiments a year prior) and, a man, who she had recognized SuckingChestWound, sleeping on the couch.

"Good morning", Sherlock said, matter of factly.

"Good morning... Why is SuckingChestWound here?

"The paper on the top of the pile, the middle."

Joan walked over to the table, picked up the paper and read what was written on it, trying to figure out what that was.

"An aid."

"An online aid", Sherlock corrected her. "I've found it in a secret browser on Brock Stinson's computer. Apparently, a commercial company named is looking for an actor in a commercial. No serious action knowledge required. The man they are looking for has to be Caucasian, between 5'8 and 5'10 tall, average weight, with short blonde hair and blonde eyes."

"Pretty convincing", Joan admitted, looking at the prospects in her hand. "The "company" even had it's website, with a link to it attached to the aid", she noted.

"The address and the photograph turned out to be the ones of a closed down spa center in Manhattan", Sherlock pointed out. "The website had since been deleted. And the person who made it uses several powerful servers in order to conceal his or hers IP addresss."

"Penname: Lei El Lens Re."

Sherlock was moving the eggs back and forth with a spechula. "Not surprisingly, that person doesn't exist, and has barely any else records online activity." He added some salt. "The people who were to apply were required to provide their first and last name and a physical description", Sherlock explained as Joan started going through the papers. "Brock Stinson did apply. And it is safe to assume that the other four victims did too."

"After a few weeks, the killer studied all the applications, made the list, started checking out the victim's social media sites, first to see the photographs and personal info and decide were they suitable targets, then later as a way of stalking them, getting to know their habits", Sherlock explained, in his usual hyperactive type of behavior, though remaining completely serious. "He, or she, had composed a list, probably still existent, and is killing the people that are on it. Even the ones who were only eighteen or nineteen at the time they applied would still make for suitable targets in the future, keeping in mind the age group this killer is targeting." He walked to the other end of the kitchen and drank a glass of water before answering. "Luckily, helped me uncover the identities of the other suitable targets by recovering some of the remaining data. And he was able to find that their social media sites had all recorded almost daily hits from a person with the IP address concealed on the same elaborate way. No traces of an aid or thr websites on the other victim's computers, probably due to a time that had passed, maybe even the devices changing, which is obviously what the killer had been counting on. Even if found, the aid doesn't look threatening at first."

Joan looked up at him, eyes wide. "Have you informed Gregson?"

Sherlock staid calm. "I have. They are being provided the police protection as we speak. And I'll have some of the Everyone's surveillaing Internet activity." He looked down at the floor for a moment, her breathing hitching a little. "Unfortunately, the police can't surveil them forever, and we both know that such people can be very creative in finding their desired targets when needed", he ended with a silent sigh.

"He even used an anonymous email address", Joan noted.

"Unfortunately, these day there are many websites offering that service", Sherlock mused before turning the over off and lifting the pan off it, moving toward the dining room table. "Only the address has to be real. The one the killer used matches to the address of the precinct that had been closed for the last five years. He used the same name for the application."

"The birthday listed was July 27th 1994. Though that is probably fake too."

"Or symbolic", Sherlock suggested. Joan watched him put the eggs on his plate, feeling like she had forgotten something.

And she did.

"I've found out something last night." "I want to show it to you."

She quickly went downstairs, in the basement, and soon went back, with a file on his hand. She put it on the table near the plate and opened it. A photograph of smiling blonde girl stared back at Sherlock, on the top of the police report.

"Seven years ago, seventeen years old Alysha Dawn was murdered in Brooklyn. Nasty stuff. Her older brother, Eric, had affiliationts with a street gang, "The Cool Crowd", though the murder didn't appear to be gang related. For months, gang members had been drawing grafitis over the walls in the neighborhood where the murder had taken place for months: big letter A, for months, until the killer was caught. Sometimes they would actually cut it in the walls."

"The murders that we are investigating don't appear to be gang related.

"And the people involved in it had been incarcerated during the time at least one of the murders had taken place. Some had been dead by that point. And most of the grafities had been removed by now. But I am still not sure is all of this a coincidence."

"Is your investigation, the one that involves Ms. Hudson, going well?", Sherlock asked while flipping through the pages, doing a bad job at trying to sound not interested.

Joan was taken aback for a moment. "Yes, why are you asking?"

"I am just wondering", Sherlock mumbled, going through the file. I care deeply about her, you know", he said under his breath.

"I know", she said warmly. But she hired me. And it will not affect her work. I will do our best. We will hire you if needed."

"I know that you will", Sherlock said before turning back to reading the file and looking for a mystery that could be hidden there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't own any of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.
> 
> Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.
> 
> Sorry for a delay, but as you can see this chapter is really complicated! It is also much longer than the others but I would appreciate if you would read it since I've worked a lot on it and it ties all the knots together.
> 
> I imagine Juliet Greenway being portrayed by Krysta Rodriguez. I don't know how important is of me to mention that, but when it comes to such roles an actor/actress makes the character.
> 
> I've included the ending song, as they often do on the show.

Sherlock rushed into the precinct, his IPhone in hand, startling Marcus and Joan, who had been sitting on the opposite desks in the workroom, searching through the police reports and registries on the computers.

"A is definitely our killer's signature", he said before leaning over quite intrusively, showing them the photographs that he had taken with his IPhone. "I went back to the places where the victims were reportedly last seen alive. With the first victim, the sign had been cut into a tree in a local park. With the second, into a wall near a coffee shop. With the third in the wall near the movie theater, with the fourth in the dumpster near his house. All written by a left handed person using a common switchblade."

"Well, that is quite interesting, Sheldon, but I think we've found our number one candidate", Marcus mumbled, standing up. He handed both Sherlock and Joan a police report showing a photograph of a Caucasian blonde woman. "Cheryl Tanner, thirty seven. A registered sdx offender. Soliciting, aggravated sexual battery of a minor. She assaulted an underage male prostitute." Sherlock frowned as he studied the information about the suspect. Cheryl was tall, slim and had a rather nasty look on her. "She did five years at Rikers. She got out two years ago, shortly before the murders started, before the aid was posted. Shortly before her arrest, she had been working in a now abandoned spice field where four of the five victim's bodies were found."

"Also, one of the former employes, Wilhelm Dawn, has a criminal record", Joan said. Multiple assaults. They are picking him up now."

Sherlock put the paper down on Marcus's desk, his facial expression somewhere between the disappointment and "duh". "She is not a sculpturist. She doesn't own a car. Her original victim looked nothing like the current ones and was younger. And she doesn't appear to be strong enough to carry out such crimes and body disposals."

Marcus glanced at Sherlock in annoyance. "Well, she is still worth talking to."

Sherlock turned around, heading towards the exit. "Your statement is strained with an embarrassing lack of logic, but I will go with you anyway."

"You think?", Marcus commented before exchanging a look with Joan.

#

Cherly Tanner led Marcus, Sherlock and Joan into her living took before sitting on a couch. Her house was nice, albeit modest, the living room consisting mostly of some furniture and a TV set.

"I know that I've done some bad things in my past, but I assure you, I have nothing to do with those murders", she said politely.

"You had worked in the area where the bodies were found", Marcus pointed out, sitting in an armchair while Sherlock and Joan sat on the sofa.

"So had many other people. And that was a long time ago."

"Excuse me, but bruises on your nuckles suggest that you had gotten into a fight recently", Joan pointed out, making Cherly look down at her fingers. "They must have been pretty nasty, but they are almost healed now. I'd say that they are about two weeks old."

Cherly looked up, slightly uncomfortable. "Uhm... I was one of the few people left at work. The storage door closed behind me and jammed. It's old. It took me a few minutes to break free."

"Can anyone confirm that?", Joan asked teasingly.

Cheryl shuddered, appearing confused. "Well, it wasn't that bad to require a medical assistance and I didn't want to complain since it is as of recently that I've gotten a steady job, so... no."

"Where were you two weeks ago between ten am and two pm?", Marcus asked.

Cherly ran her hand down her hair. "Uhm..." She forced a chuckle. "I don't know. Home, alone, I think."

Joan leaned over to Sherlock, keeping one eye on Cheryl. "She is definitely lying about her alibi", she whispered, eyes focused on Cheryl's hands. "She kept clasping her hands whenever she was asked about it." Joan leaned back in the sofa as Sherlock turned his attention to the suspect.

Suddenly, Sherlock stood up and walked over to Cheryl, making her shiver."Excuse me, ms. Tanner", he exclaimed in his high, hyperactive tone of voice. "I've noticed that you kept glancing towards the music box on this shelf", he explained, looking at the music box for a moment. "Care to explain why?"

Cherly squirmed on the couch, as Marcus observed her curiously. "Uhm... I don't know. I'm afraid that you are mistaken."

"You are clasping your hands together again", Joan pointed out, making Cheryl blush. She clenched her fists and ran them down her sides, failing to notice Sherlock put on a pair of latex gloves and walk over to the music box. When she noticed him, it was too late. She wanted to protest, but words just weren't coming out.

"I am not", Sherlock assured her, picking up the box. "You've flinched when I asked you about that. It was pathetic."

"Don't you need a warrant for that?", Cheryl cried.

"It was on a visible spot, as can be confirmed by three witnesses and a photograph that mr. Holmes had taken prior to picking up the box. And you've let us inside your home." It was then that Sherlock pulled out a small package of heroin from the music box, showing it to the others. Cheryl groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"You are going back to prison either way", Joan said. " I've noticed that you had been lying about your alibi. If your real alibi has something to do with this", she said, pointing to the package, "now is the time to reveal it."

#

Sherlock and Joan walked into the brownstone, with Sherlock furiously closing the door behind him. "Of course, our deduction skills led to a wrong suspect being cleared rather than pointing us to the right suspect", he cried before looking through the window, suddenly in a slightly philosophical mood. "We are so good that we are horrible at times", he whispered, making Joan roll her eyes. Sherlock walked over to the living room desk and his eyes met Joan's.

"Lets go over what we know. After Cherly led us to the drug dealer, he admitted that she had been buying drugs from him in a completely different part of the city at the time Brock had gone missing. One of the phone calls that she had made during that time bounced against the cell tower in a close proximity to the said location."

Joan continued. "And Wilhelm Dawn has an alibi too. He was visiting his parents in San Francisco at the time Brock was abducted."

Sherlock picked up the newspaper from his pants pocket and looked at the front page with contempt. "They are actually calling him "Paprika Strangler". How low can they get." He threw the newspaper accrloss the room. "It's a pepper, not paprika! And there is a reason why such informations are being kept as a secret!"

"Many people work at the precinct. Somebody must have read the newest report and the money had switched hands."

Sherlock bend over, picked up the box filled with case files and slammed it against the desk. "We have no choice but to go through the information that we already have."

Joan's ringtone went off.

I'm alive

And I see things mighty clear today

She glared at Sherlock, who just shrugged. She pulled out her phone, answered the phone and moved to the side. "Hallo?"

Sherlock opened the box and started putting the case files on the desk. "See if we had missed something, is there a connection that we have yet to make."

Joan went back in the living room, her phone still in her hand. "Well, I have... dinner plans, so I'll be away for at least an hour."

Sherlock remained indifferent. "No problem. We have a whole night ahead of us."

"Great", Joan groaned before heading to the basement.

#

Joan checked her watch, waiting impatiently in a modest Japanese restaurant, her meal about to be served. She smiled upon seeing her guest companion approach the restaurant, waving her hand for him to join her. So he went inside and approached her.

Howard snorted at Joan as he sat at the table, opposite to her. "I hope you understand the only reason I agreed to meet with you was because you've convinced me that you have important information about the case."

Joan said nothing. Instead, she unzipped her purse. And pulled out the file that she opened in front of Howard. He shivered upon seeing photographs of himself talking to a tall grey haired man in a park. "I had one of my friends follow you around. Photographs of you talking to the star witness against Ms. Hudson. George Heffernan, on a pretty secret places."

Howard gulped, but said nothing. Joan started going through the photographs, allowing him to see them all.

"And here are the photographs of George Heffernan going into an apartment where his secretary, Jannie Denvers, lives. She definitely doesn't have financial resources to own it. It didn't take me long for to find out whose name is in the lease."

Howard leaned back in his chair and shuddered. Joan enjoyed seeing him that way.

"I confronted George. Once he had realized that both sides have the proof of his infidelity, he decided to at least spare himself from committing and admitted that you had blackmailed him into agreeing to testify against Ms. Hudson. Apparently, you have wanted to take revenge on her for years, but after your new girlfriend broke up with you and Ms. Hudson published her new paper, you snapped." She glared at Howard. "Did you follow him after one of his lectures, wanted to get closer to him, but walked in on some indiscretion and decided to benefit from it? One could hardly find more reliable witnesss than George."

Howard took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "So, you have nothing but he said/she said?"

Joan pulled out an USB from her purse and put it on the table in front of Howard.

"He also provided us with this computer file, which is the evidence of him helping you fabricate the computer evidence that you claim to have against Ms. Hudson. You can plug it in your phone and check it if you don't believe me. This is just a copy, by the way."

"So, my advice is: drop the charges before this gets too much publicity and stay away from her. Start acting out again, and this goes straight to the cops. By the way, just in case, I've secretly recorded my conversation with George."

Howard groaned and ran his hand through his hair. Who would have thought...

#

Two things woke up Joan the next morning. The first was an unusual, almost electrical sound moving close to her face, and the other one was a fresh, always welcome smell of baked goods and melted sugar. She stretched out on the couch lazily and rubbed her eyes before opening them, her muscles feeling a bit sore and her hair a mess.

She nearly burst into laughter upon seeing her new wake up device: a toy zeppelin flying above her head, with a small bowl hanging from it, having been tied down carefully with a thin rope, a piece of a Yorkshire pudding inside. Sherlock was sitting in a near by armchair, holding a remote control in his hands, a mischievous smile on his face. They locked eyes. Joan smirked.

"Zeppelin and a Yorkshire pudding? Mr. Holmes, you continue to top yourself." She sat up straight on the couch, fixed the hair and carefully untied the bowl.

Sherlock's smile widened. "Glorious, isn't it?"

Joan bit into the treat with delight. "It is, but you only make them when you are upset."

"I was upset, at first. Then I just had to combine the information that I have already had, think some more and, as of few minutes ago, the killer's identity is known. I had to re heat the pudding. I hope you don't mind."

"As a person in any known profession, sculpturists have to be licenced, in the tax division if anything. As expected, there are dozens of thousands of them in New York. Almost one thousand in Manhattan alone. But by using some clever database search, I was able to find out that only twenty had lived close to or in some other way worked in Manhattan Chinatown at the time of the first murder. After just skimming through their DMW photographs and records, I was able to eliminate all of them as suspects. They were either not left handed, or not the right height, or not strong enough."

He paused, probably due to a dramatic effect, but soon continued after being met with Joan's annoyed glare.

"So, it came to my mind: maybe the killer had an art exhibition in or close to Manhattan Chinatown at the time of murder. And so, dozens of thousands became five. And, due to a further investigation, five became one."

He picked up one of the many papers from the desk and handed it to Joan, together with her reading glasses. Joan put her eyeglasses on and quickly skimmed through the data. "Juliet Greenway."

"It turns out that she didn't exist until 2008. I did some more research and it turns out that her name used to be Allicia Greenway. She had changed it soon after her rapist, Cyril Grey, was sentenced to life in prison. I know that she owns a blue Peugeout. According to her social media sites, she has been practicing krav maga since 2011 and is a well experienced mountain climber. She would have no problems taking down a young man, especially if he were still in pain due to a taser. But there are still consequences. She checked in the hospital with a broken nose, claiming that she had "fell over". Two weeks ago, she cheeked in with a broken left index finger, also claiming an accidental fall to be the cause. She was smart enough to go to two different hospital in two different counties, both far away from the victim's addresses, anduction sights, workplace or the place where she had buried the bodies." He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Joan, who appeared stunned. "Also, look at the information on her DMW records and her signature."

It didn't take her long to notice what Sherlock had been referring to. "5'7 tall. Letter leaning to the left, slight smear leaning in that direction." She looked up at Sherlock, handing the paper back at him. "She is left handed. That matches to your findings."

Sherlock nodded his head. "She and Cyril met over an online dating site and arranged a date. After meeting up with her, he ruled her to an abandoned grocery store, where he beat her up and raped her, while threatening her with a common switchblade. He even strangled her non fatally a few times. Before the abduction, they met up near a cafe store on Elm street 26 in Brooklyn, close to the place where Alysha Dawn's body was found." He handed one of the case files to Joan, and she went on to studying it with an interest. "For years, large letter A had been caught into one of the near by walls. That was the first thing that she had seen before being ruled to her doom." He lowered his voice, almost sounding surprised himself by his findings. "Coincidentally, her name happened to start with an A before she changed it. A is now her personal signature. That wall is exactly five feet tall, the same depth to which she is burying her victims." He fondled his hands together as Joan started studying one of the crime scene photographs closely. "And a specific spot where the attack had taken plane is interesting: in the storage room, near the boxes of Cayene pepper." Joan looked up and met Sherlock's eyes, appearing almost shocked. He appeared calm, but understanding. "There was even some of it on the floor. The whole room reeked of it while that young tall blonde haired man was brutalizing her for hours." He raised his index finger. "That happened on March 4th 2008, afternoon." He leaned back in the armchair. "Cyril was eventually identified via Internet records. Juliet testified against him in court. He was found guilty and sentenced life imprisonment. But he didn't stay in prison for long."

"While in prison, he came to learn the information about the unsolved mob related murder", Joan read. "In an exchange for testifying, he was released from prison and placed in a witness protection program for life. Despite Juliet's protests, the procedure was eventually finalized..." She widened her eyes, her voice suddenly reduced to a whisper. "On January 12th 2013", she gasped.

"At the time of his arrest, Cyril worked on a spice field where the bodies were buried. His record was sealed after he was put in a witness protection program, so he didn't show up during an intial investigation."

"A week later, a sex offender living a few houses away from Juliet began receiving threatening letters and phone calls", Sherlock exclaimed. "It had gotten so bad that he moved to another neighborhood by the end of February that year. On March 2nd, 2013, the store where the attack had taken place was burned to the ground. Definitely an arson. Juliet had been a suspect in both cases, but there was no sufficient evidence." He took another file from the desk and gave it to Joan, causing her to temporarily ignore the previous one. A photograph of a young brown haired woman was on the top, a chilling contrast to an autopsy report and crime scene photographs inside. "And then, on March 4th 2013, on the anniversary of her rape, Cyril's lawyer, Wendy Jonson, the one who helped him get in the witness protection program, was found dead in her backyard, in the hot thub. Drowned to death. No injuries to her body other than some bruises on her arms and a slight injury to the back of her head, that could have been caused by the fall. She had some alcohol in her system."

Joan was going through the autopsy report and crime scene photographs. "The death was ruled an accident. They've concluded that she had been drinking, spent too much time in the hot thub, got out too fast, got dizzy, fell over into the hot thub, sustaining some injuries and loosing consciousness in process, and drowned."

Sherlock stood up and walked over to his partner, leaning above the case file. He found the crime scene photograph showing the whole yard and pointed at the lemon tree. "But look at the lemon tree in her backyard near the hot thub... look at the cuts and striations on it." He handed her the magnifying glass.

"One of them appears to be more fresh. More clean cut", Joan deduced.

"It looks like it was made by a switchblade. And notice the shape of the garden dwarves and the fresh impression on the ground", he said, directing the magnifying glass lower. "I thought that I would never say this, but I think that one more dwarf was standing there, and is now missing."

Joan straightened up in her spot, her mind working fast. "Juding by that, it is far more likely that Juliet broke inside and attacked Wendy with a switchblade, but that went wrong so she ended up bludgeoning her during a struggle with a garden dwarf, causing her to fall in the hot thub and drown." She remembered something and, after going through the previous files, found the data that she had been looking for. "According to Juliet's medical record, she was allergic to chlorine. So she just left Wendy there."

Sherlock picked up another case file and quickly read some basic details, standing near the armchair. "And, on January 12th 2014, Keith Cooper, the prosecutor who had arranged Cyril's plea bargain, was found dead in his motel room in Seattle. Brutally beaten with a tyre iron and throat slit with a switchblade. Pretty clean crime scene, but traces of were found on the body. The case is still unsolved, but it is still believed to have been motivated by the gang related murder he had been working on at the time. Juliet was barely investigated. There are not even records of her traveling to Seattle." He looked through the window longingly. "She is good."

"Her first two murders", Joan deduced. "Before she had developed her actual M.O. Torture, strangulation... even before she developed her signature. She wanted to take her final revenge on Cyril, but couldn't, so she settled for surogates." She frowned and rubbed her chin, remembering a certain detail that she had noticed a few days ago. "According to the case file, detectives found Juliet's bra and panties hidden in his apartment. He took them after raping her. Those were his trophies. I've noticed that, minus the genital mutilation, the killer seemed quite careful with the area below the victim's waste. Maybe that was so she wouldn't damage the underwear, that she would keep as a trophy."

"And Wendy's garden dwarf and wrist watch watch were her original trophies", Joan exclaimed as Sherlock went to the kitchen to set up some tea. Joan leaned back in the couch.

"And now she is leaving that pepper all over the men that she is murdering", she mused. "Men that she beats up with her bare hands and then murders by strangling them to death, after spotting their throats and mutilating their genitals non fatally with a common switchblade." Her eyes traveled back to the mugshot laying near by. "Men that resemble Cyril." She suddenly thought of something and looked at the photograph of Juliet: realization washed over her face.

"Wait... I've seen her!", she exclaimed. She looked towards the kitchen. "She was one of the passer bys behind the tape!" She looked away. "She probably sneaked off before the police arrived."

"And when you try seeing it that way, those aliases and dates used in opening an anonymous email address and publish an aid make much more sense", Sherlock called out from the kitchen.

Joan rubbed her forehead, thinking some about what he had said, before her face lit up.

"July 29th 1994 is the date of the murder of Megan Kanka. Her murder and a public outraged that followed led to the establishment and an eventual passing of Megan's law all over the USA, which had set up much stricter restrictions and laws regarding sex offenders."

Sherlock stepped back in the living room for a moment.

"The precinct located on the address that was listed on the application doesn't exist anymore, but it did in 2008. That is where Juliet went to report what happened to her. And a closed spa center featured on the photograph posted on the ad used to be a hospital, where she had been treated following her attack. Finally, Lei El Renas Re her pen name, is an anagram derived from Elle Nessler." He went back to the kitchen.

Joan remembered the details about that case. "In 1993, a woman named Elle Nessler shot and killed the man on trial for molesting her daughter in the courtroom. She was given three years in prison and was paroled after serving three."

Sherlock went back to the living roll with a tea pot in his hand.

"And, an alias used on an application for an email address, is an anagram derived from Gary Plauche, who, in 1984, murdered the man accused of sexually abusing his son in front of the TV cameras, and only received five years probation and three hundred hours of a community service."

"Vigilantes."

"Who targeted sex criminals."

"And basically got away with murder."

"Hopefully she won't", Sherlock said, sipping tea to Joan and himself. "Bell and Gregson are bringing her to the precinct as we speak. They will inform us when we can come down there and see how the things will turn out."

#

Within half an hour, Juliet was sitting at the table in an interrogation room, tapping with her fingers against the surface and looking on the documents laying on the table in front of her. She was a petite looking Caucasian woman with shoulder length black hair and a piercing dark eyes. Marcus and Thomas were sitting at that table too, opposite to her, and the camera near by had been running. Sherlock and Joan were looking at the interrogation from the outside, listening to it through the microphone, trying hard to catch every word and every detail.

"Yes, I agree that there are some weird similarities", Juliet admitted in a sheepish tone, "but I didn't kill anyone."

"Too many coincidences, Juliet, if you ask me", Thomas pointed out. He leaned over and lowered his face. "Or shall I say Alicia?"

Juliet's lips soon curved into an expressioness line. The innocent look to her face was gone. "Obviously not that too many", she said calmly. "Otherwise you'd be bringing me here in handcuffs and I would already be grilled by the prosecutor as well as you guys." She leaned over, a mocking grin appearing on her face."And that trick... with my old name... it is not working for you", she whispered before leaning back and letting out a chuckle.

Marcus continued. "So, you can't explain it? The murders happening on the anniversaries of your rape or your rapist's release, the address of that precinct being listed for an application."

Juliet frowned, remaining perfectly calm. "Maybe somebody is trying to frame me", she suggested, a bit of taunt in her soft tone of voice. "Or... I doubt that what Cyril did to me and the way he got away only affected me. Maybe he had a girlfriend who felt betrayed. Maybe he had brutalized other women but managed to get away with those. Those woman may have husband, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends... any one of them could have snapped." She crossed her arms over her chest. "The way I see it, those theories, many other theories with many other suspects, are just as likely as the one you have. Since you consider that crime to be the trigger for it all and have no evidence against me. And I would love to see the prosecutor, any prosecutor, convince the jury that I had taken down five adult men with my bare hands."

"How do you know that the victims were beaten with the killer's bare fists?", Thomas asked, blush creeping up his cheeks. "We haven't told you that."

Juliet shivered, remaining silent for a moment, but she regained her composure. "I have assumed." She leaned a hand through her hair and sighed. "I've heard, actually read somewhere, that it is usually that way with serial killers. When it comes to the beating part." Her eyes met Thomas's. "It takes a lot of rage, to become someone, something like that", she said with a taunting indifference. "An inhuman rage that can make you do the unthinkable things", she hissed.

"She did it", Joan said, matter of factly.

"I agree", Sherlock said. "She could have had her attorney present by now, I'm sure that she has at least one ready, but she wants to gloat."

"It must have been hard for you. Being humiliated. Violated. Helpless."

"Provocation, huh?", Juliet scoffed. I guess my smugness turned you off from "playing the sympathy card" technique." She leaned closer to Marcus. "That is behind me now. I am strong now."

Juliet smiled. "Your words, not mine."

Thomas glared at her. "You do understand that this interrogation is being recorded, right?"

"I am just being honest." She looked down at the floor and pouted her lips. "I am sorry if I am being moody. You kinda upset me. I was never quite the same after... you know." She immediately looked up, her facial expression confident. "And... just to be honest... I bet my lawyers will find enough reasons for this tape to never make it to the court. Unwaranted suspicion, harassment..."

"This isn't a joke, Juliet", Marcus said, trying to stay calm.

Juliet looked at him with contempt. "Do I look like I am joking?"

"We may not have much evidence now, but I think that it will be enough for a search warrant for your house and the car."

"You don't need it", she informed them calmly.

Thomas and Marcus exchanged a glance.

"You have my permission", Juliet elaborated. Search it." Her facial expression turned softver, shivers invading her voice. "I just want this to end. I don't like... thinking... about what had happened to me." She looked at them with watery eyes. I'm sure the jury will see me... hear me... and understand... if I will have to face them." And immediately after, that smug look was on her face again.

#

Joan sighed in frustration as she closed Juliet's bedroom closet. Sherlock was going through the bed sheets.

"Well, nothing suspicious there", Joan concluded. "Forensics are pulling out her drains, looking for traces of blood."

Sherlock stood in front of the bookcase, scanning it's content carefully, as well as the writing table. Joan noticed that. She walked over to him, patiently waiting for an explanation.

""Look. A non fictional books-manuals, phone book-are laying on the desk. And yet the dictionary is on a bookcase."

He pulled it out and flipped through the pages, then ran his fingers down the covers. "There is something inside", he concluded while examining the inner side of the back cover. He ripped the paper off and saw a key underneath, taped to the carboard with a duct tape.

#

Sherlock was the one to walk in the interrogation room next, with Marcus, Joan and Thomas waiting on the outside. Juliet almost jumped in place upon seeing him. "Sherlock Holmes, nice to meet you." They shook hands. His appearence seemed to have confused Juliet.

"You like chewing gums?", he commented. "I presume?"

Juliet was startled. "How..."

"I feel it's scent in your breath. Quite strong." Sherlock glared at her. "You look kind of nervous. Has the cricket game gone wrong recently?"

"I've taken an interest in it recently", Juliet admitted, blushing..

Sherlock sat at the table opposite to her. "I see a box of matches sticking out of yoir pocket. The very special kind. The one issued in a bar called. One of the few bars in Manhattan that have a TV with an access to a very specific, cricket dedicated foreign TV program."

Juliet looked bewildered. "You've deduced all that by just looking at me?"

"I have. I was at your apartment too. And I've found this."

He pulled out an evidence bag from his pocket, containing a key, and put it on the table in front of Juliet. She shifted in her seat.

"Impressive, isn't it?", Sherlovk smirked.

A short silence ensued. Juliet ran a hand through her hair.

"So...", she raised her eyebrows at him. "Sherlock, is it?" He nodded his head. "You've deduced all the mundane things that I've done today, but I haven't heard a word, from you, about the things that I am suspected of doing. And that is why you are here, right? That is why all of you are here."

Sherlock had no response. Juliet chuckled mockingly at him and looked down at the idom in front of her.

"This is a really nice key."

"You've flinched when you saw it", he pointed out.

Juliet shrugged. "If that can tell you what it opens, you are really good." She smirked. "But you are not."

"We found it in your apartment. Hidden inside a book."

Juliet shrugged again. "I must have misplaced it. I don't even remember what it opens." She glared at Sherlock.. "Though I have a feeling that it doesn't quite matter."

Sherlock snickered at her. "You are pathetic", he said in a husky tone. He stood up and started walking around the room, looking down at the black haired woman sitting at the table. "You couldn't even find the guy who actually harmed you so you started going after innocent people." He walked back over to his seat. "You are just as bad as him."

Juliet looked up at him with a frown."Interesting observation. I have one question though. Why do you think that any of that matters?"

Sherlock sat opposite to her again, looking at her in disgust. "You know the saddest part? You will always be the victim. All of this is just a facade. You are broken inside. Beyond repair. Your confidence is fake. Your toughness is fake. You were destroyed that day. You became useless. And you always will be." He grinned. "Pityfull, isn't it?"

"I bet some... men would disagree with you. If you were able to talk to them..."

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't believe you."

Suddenly, Juliet gripped at the table and shook it, her lips pressed together tightly as her icy glare met Sherlock's eyes.

"If I were to give a damn about your opinion, I could find the way", she said in a husky tone. "But I don't. And the ones whose opinions I care about... they had already been taken care of." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm done talking to you."

"Do you really think that you are going to get away with it?", Sherlock taunted her. She didn't respond.

"You've seen my methods, my abilities. I may not have much now, but it is only a matter of time." Juliet looked up at the ceiling and started whistling silently, as if she was bored.

"You think that you will manage to be as though in prison too? A pretty girl like you. Ten on one. They will tear you apart. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It will be just like that night at that store all over again, every day, for the rest of your life."

Juliet took a sip of water, looking at him as if she had heard all of that before.

"You still cry yourself to sleep every night, do you? I'd bet you do."

They locked eyes. Sherlock gritted his teeth at Juliet's indifference and rushed out of the interrogation room, slamming the door shut behind himself. Juliet scoffed and shook his head.

Sherlock walk toward Thomas, Marcus and Joan with his head low. "I am not proud of what I've said. Not even to her", he whispered.

Joan gently touched his hand. "It had to be done."

Sherlock looked up, his face covered with sweat. "Well, it hasn't provided much results, has it?"

Thomas groaned. "Let's wait for a forensic report. Maybe they will find something."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "She knows about us. She must have recognized us on the scene and done her research. God bless the Internet."

#

It took an hour for report to arrive, and Marcus was the ime to bring it. They all turned towards the door upon hearing it open. Marcus walked in, closing the door behind, a file in his hand. The hopeful looks on their faces soon faces as they were met with Marcus's soar expression. "Preliminary forensic report", he said bitterly. "They had examined the drains, the clothing, the car with luminol and UV light, had taken swabs. Nothing. No blood. All of her shoes and car tyres are spotless. No blood, no dirt. They even looked inside the exhaust." He dropped the file on a near by desk and sighed in frustration.

"What about the computer? And the Internet records?", Thomas asked, sounding alarmed.

Marcus gave him a helpless look as Joan picked up the file and started going through it. "Almost nothing on there except for the games and some good old rock'n roll."

"The ropes and the knots match though", Joan noted.

Marcus shook his head. "Thousand of people use that kind of knot. You can buy these ropes in every sport's good store in the city. The same with the car she owns. Our witness can't positively identify her or her exact car, and even if he could, he is very unreliable."

"What about the taser?", Sherlock asked.

"No such luck. The closest thing she has that could use for self defense, except for a karate equipment, is a papper spray."

"We know that she needed an isolated place to torture her victims." "She owns a summer house. The troopers searched it, as well as any abandoned building or a house in twenty mile radius from her house, or the workplace, or China Town. I cheeked the records of all the real estates purchased or rented and storage rooms rented in that area. Only to find nothing."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she would sue us after all of this. I would suggest playing a surveillance at her, but she would no doubt notice it and file a complain, maybe sue us... further reducing or chances of every bringing her to justice."

Joan looked at them in shock. "She is going to walk?"

Thomas shrugged, a tired look on his face. "We have no evidence against her. It is all circumstancial. No physical evidence, no witnesses, no confession."

Joan stared at Juliet through the one way mirror for some time, allowing the words to sink in, before deciding: "I'm going in."

Before they could stop her, Joan walked in the interrogation room, closing the door behind. Juliet stared at her for some time, almost surprised, before letting out a chuckle.

"Oh. A woman. I was wondering when would they play that card."

Joan sat at the table opposite to her. "You are acting like you are above us all. But you could have walked any time. You are still here."

Juliet said nothing. She was waiting for Joan's next response, looking amused.

"You are gloating. But it's more than that. You want to learn what do we have against you. What are our chances. You are... concerned."

Juliet smiled. "Maybe I just want a good laugh. You four.. you are... comical, to say politely."

Joan leaned closer, looking Juliet right in the eye. "You may think that you are no longer a victim. But that incident broke you down. If it happened once, it can happen again. No matter how much you are trying to convince yourself otherwise. It doesn't even have to be the same thing. The stress will become too much... and you will break. And we will catch you. And you will go to prison."

Juliet's lips quivered for a moment, but her voice was cold as usual."You seem to have a pretty... narrow minded way of looking at life." She smirked. "Lony life, huh?"

Joan waved her hand dismissively. "You are avoiding my question with another question. Just like losers do", she said, sounding surprising arrogant.

"Losers like the ones who spend years trying to build their career and then screen everything up by one dumb move, robbing somebody of a father, husband, brother?" "You do seem to be quite familiar with "losers"".

"Good move", she admitted, her voice shivering. She gulped and took a deep breath. "But that is all there is. A good move." She shrugged. "It is not you. That brutal, brilliant serial killer you think you are... I don't see it. Nobody sees it. The only one who see it are the men that you are murdering. And then they die and that is gone too." She frowned. "So why are you killing them then?" Her face lit up. "Because it is better than the alternativ. If you would leave them alive, they would eventually see the real you." She leaned over. "A pathetic, frustrated bunch of nothing whose sole purpose of life is that brief, cowardly, self pitying thrill, who will die alone, angry, sad and unloved", she spat out.

"Liar!", Juliet screamed, jumping out of her chair. Joan shivered. Juliet locked eyes with her. Sherlock, Marcus and Thomas flinched, but knew that Juliet was shaken and could say something incriminating.

Juliet looked like she was in trance. "When I... when I do my... work, I am fulfilled. You know nothing about me. That is all I need in my life. You will never have that. You don't have a life. You never had."

Joan just stared blankly at the younger woman, feeling completely drained. She felt an ach in her chest as she saw Juliet regained her composure. "I have to leave now. Unlike some people, I have more important things to do."

She started leaving, but then walked back over to Joan.

"By the way, don't fool yourself thinking that you are better or happier than me? Heck, you've already murdered a man. Two, some could argue. Is that what you think about one climbing into your cold and empty bed every night? Your consolation? That you always get... the person that you are after? Like that means anything to people that you've harmed, that that will make them stop hating you with passion you can't begin to imagine? Even if you think that it does... you no longer really have that, either." She started walking towards the door again. "Have a nice life." She stood by the door and turned towards Joan again. "I'll be thinking about you the next time I'm with... my man. About your... latest failure." She left, closing the door behind, without even bothering to look at Thomas, Sherlock and Marcus. Sherlock was just staring aimlessly after her.

"We know what she did, what she is capable off, and the only thing that we can do is watching her walk away", he muttered.

Thomas shrugged. "Sometimes even the best of efforts just... aren't enough." He took one deep breath. "We will just have to wait for the next chance."

"And when will it present itself? How many more people will get hurt before it does."

Joan walked outside, closing the door behind. Her walk was slow and kinda shaky, her eyes watery. Thomas and Marcus just exchange a look, and Sherlock walked over to her.

"Hey... you did good."

She found no strength to look up at him, and he hugged her.

#

It was incredible how... normal that night seemed. Not a trace of the evil that lurked outside. It was warm and the air smelled of strawberries and jasmine.

Joan smiled at Ms. Hudson as they both stood facing each other in the living room. The blonde woman shook her head and ran her hand through her hair.

"All because of jealousy. I can't believe it." She shrugged. "I probably should, but..."

"Well, you are safe now", Joan said assuringly. "And free to publish your work."

Ms. Hudson smiled at her. "Thank you so much for helping me out. It really means me a lot."

"Oh, it was nothing, really."

"For me, it was a lot." Joan blushed. Ms. Hudson seemed uncertain for a mome t before reaching into her pocket. "I still want to give you something..." "No, it is not necessary..." The blonde woman looked up at Joan. "I insist." Joan grinned and looked down at the floor for a moment. Ms. Hudson pulled out a piece of jewelry from her pocket and held it out for Joan. Joan's face brightened and she felt a warmth rush through her figure. "A bracelet", their housekeeper explained, kind of shyly. "I've made it myself." "It is beautiful!", Joan cried, picking it up. "I think that it will be a good fit." Joan put the bracelet on her wrist. "Thank you", Joan said, taking a moment to let the sight sink into her. "It's beautiful." "This is is an Ancient Greek lettering. It reads "philia"... meaning friendship. That is what we are, actually." Joan gave her a warm look. "Of course we are." Ms. Hudson looked around and bit her lower lip. "How is Sherlock doing?"

"Oh... well... it is hard, for both of us", Joan admitted, a pained look appearing on her face. "She... slipped away."

"You will catch her, eventually", Ms. Hudson said reassuringly.

Joan nodded her head. "I know."

They exchanged a smile and then their house keeper, friend and one of her clients turned around and walked away.

Joan watched after her for quite some time, before looking up at the ceiling.

She knew where Sherlock was.

He probably wanted to be alone.

And she did too.

But sometimes...

She slowly walked up the ceiling, every step feeling heavier for her. She slowly opened the door and stepped on the rooftop.

(Amy by Green Day)

Sherlock was standing in front of his beehive, staring in awe at the sight in front of him. Ten bees all piled together on a small plastic package set among dozens of others, buzzing in a very specific rhythm. She smiled after what felt like forever, and walked over to him, fascinated by the sight. He didn't look up, but he had clearly registered her presence.

"They've found it", he explained proudly. "C4 explosive. They've found it and now they are signaling me. Completely non threatening and perfectly clear. Even though it was dipped in honey, they can detect it." "Isn't that beautiful?"

"It is", Joan whispered. Sherlock kept studying the bees for some time, then pulled his phone out and set the odd buzzing like sound playing, causing them to immediately return back to the beehives. He then turned the sound off, sighed, and pulled the phone back down his pocket before lying, face up, on the sheet posed on the floor near by, staring up at the sky rather curiously. Joan kept observing him, waiting for an answer, but there was none. So she laid down on the sheet, face up, right next to Sherlock, looking up in the direction of his eyesight. Like he had been waiting for that, he provided her an explanation.

"Sometimes it relaxes me. Looking at stars. Knowing that there is some natural law... a link... ensuring that everything will turn out the way it is supposed to."

Joan said nothing. Their hands brushed together.

"It wasn't the truth. What she said. None of it."

"I know. But it is still bothering me. And that is what is bothering me."

She held Sherlock's hand, making him look towards her.

"We will catch her someday."

Sherlock smiled sadly. "No offense, but your optimism both warms ma heart and annoys me."

Joan shrugged, managing a small smile. "What can I say? I have faith."

They both turned to look back up at the lingering stars, holding their hands together tightly.

~THE END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And this is it... thank you for reading and reviewing and give me your opinion about this chapter! I hope you don't feel "cheated" by the ending. I promise that I will get back to Juliet Greenway eventually. Feel free to remind me if needed! Make suggestions if you want.
> 
> Love, Mislav


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